To All Good Things
by Angelus1
Summary: A future filled with life and lust and loss and laughter and loneliness and love. Pairings range anywhere from WillowXander to SpikeAngel (eventually).
1. Elegy

Title: To All Good Things.... (1/22: Elegy)  
  
Author: Angelus  
  
E-mail: angelus1317@hotmail.com (Please put "To All Good Things" on the subject line.)  
  
Subject: Buffy the Vampire Slayer  
  
Category: G, A, R, Darkfic  
  
Pairings: Buffy/Spike, Xander/Willow, Wesley/Fred, Angel/Gwen, Xander/Fred, Wesley/Willow, Willow/Gwen, Angel/Willow, Cait/Angel, Angel/Spike  
  
Rating: R (eventually)  
  
Summary: A future filled with life and lust and loss and laughter and loneliness and love.  
  
Spoilers: Chosen  
  
Archive: Anywhere, just ask me first.  
  
Disclaimer: Yeah, right, sure I own 'em. In my dreams. Angel, Gwen, Spike, Fred, Wesley, Xander, Spike, Cordy, Faith, Gunn, Lorne, Wood, Anya, Giles, Andrew, Dawn, Kennedy, Rona, Amanda, Vi, the other Potentials, and any other characters mentioned here are the property of Joss Whedon, UPN, and Mutant Enemy Inc. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
Author's notes: Allright, so there are some continuity errors in the timeline of this story that I had to allow in order for it to work out the way I wanted it to. The Angel Investigations team, including Gwen, came to Sunnydale with Angel to stop the First. Spike is alive, because Buffy never gave the amulet to him - she used it herself. And no one knew about Wesley and Lilah or about Fred, Gunn, and Professor Sidel. But if you ignore canon as I do, I hope you will find this glimpse of the future as original as I intended it to be.  
  
Dedication: To Nikki and Elizabeth, for about the millionth time, because here we are, six years later, seniors at last, and after everything, you are the ones that have been real and true and trustworthy time and time again, going far beyond the call of duty. I didn't let you see it, but I was drowning last year. You were, and always be, my life preservers. I love you so very very much, and there are just not words to say how grateful I am that you are so patient, so understanding. I am just blessed. Everyone should be lucky enough to have friends like you, but I'm glad I'm the one who does.  
  
~*~  
  
"The battle's done,   
And we kinda won,   
So we sound a victory cheer.  
But where do we go  
From here?"  
-Where Do We Go From Here?, Once More With Feeling soundtrack.  
  
~*~  
  
The battlefield was silent for the first time in nearly four hours of solid fighting. No more screams of pain and triumphs, no more clang of metal swords, no more 'phwoosh' sounds of vampires exploding into clouds of dust. Dead, broken bodies lay scattered liberally across a crimson-stained ground, weapons clutched in cold, motionless hands or thrown to the side, to dirty to shine in the late afternoon sun that shone down upon them from the hole that had been blasted in the earth from the power of the amulet. The scene resembled, in Xander's eyes, the pictures of battlefields in the history textbooks he'd been shown annually since grade school, save for the fact that many of the mangled bodies were demon in origin. Never had he imagined he would be in the middle of such a scene. He now mentally kicked himself for all the times he had looked at those pictured and thought "Cool!". For these weren't nameless faceless victims; theses were his friends and family that lay there, never to rise again. The remaining few, bruised and broken themselves, filthy and blood-spattered and eternally exhausted, but somehow, miraculously alive, stood in silence, a mixture of horror and awe crossing their faces. Then, slowly, they began to move towards one another, staying in the shadows.  
  
There were only six of them. That was the thought that kept running through Wesley's head. Only six people had survived this massacre. Besides himself and Xander, there stood Angel, Gwen, Spike, and Fred. The measly group came to a halt as they formed a small circle. As if on cue, they all dropped their weapons and came together in a slightly less cheesy form of a group hug. They leaned on one another, so that no one was actually supporting his or her own weight. They couldn't - they were too tired, too shell-shocked, too wracked with grief. They leaned and leaned until finally, they all collapsed into a heap on the ground. In any other situation it would have been uncomfortable. Gwen, for one, had Fred's elbow digging into her side and Spike's heavy form nearly crushing her ribcage. But, like the others, she ignored it, concentrating instead on being alive, being loved. As one, they slept.  
  
~*~  
  
One week later  
  
~*~  
  
Angel collapsed onto his bed at the Hyperion. His bones ached, as if only now feeling the strain of being alive for a hundred fifty-plus years. He wasn't going to sleep; he had had far too much sleep in the past week. Right now he just needed a little solace. For in a few hours, it all would start: real life, moving on.  
  
They had woken up hours, maybe days after falling asleep in the first place. They had done a quick sweep of the school, just as a precaution, but had been overjoyed to find Willow passed out in a classroom. And so the ranks had expanded to seven.   
  
Then had come the hard part.  
  
Barely able to hold themselves in check, they had picked their friends' mangled bodies from the wreckage. Cordy, Faith, Gunn, Lorne, Wood, Anya, Giles, Andrew, Dawn, Kennedy, Rona, Amanda, Vi, and at least ten other Potentials that they could find. The others, they assumed, had fled, for they were nowhere to be found. A single grave had been dug, for they had neither the physical nor emotional strength to dig separate ones. There would be not the time for the proper funeral, not to mention the funeral parlor had been sort of demolished, along with the rest of the town. It was not the proper burial for these amazing men and women - champions to the very end, just like those that survived them. But it was fitting, in a way. Even in death, they stuck together.  
  
As soon as the last shovelfull of dirt was dumped on top of the mass grave, they had all hurriedly packed bags and driven back to the hotel, Angel and Spike stowed safely in the trunk to escape any stray rays of sunlight, folded around one another like long-lost lovers, which the others pretended wasn't nearly as obvious as it was.   
  
Back here, they had proceeded to hole themselves up in separate rooms and do nothing but eat and sleep.  
  
And cry.  
  
Angel very well remembered the last time he cried. It was the night Willow told him Buffy had died. Before that, he had had very few incidences, but all of them had something to do with Buffy.  
  
As did this time. He shed a tear, of course, for Faith. For Gunn, for Giles, for Dawn, for Lorne. For Wood and Anya and Andrew and the Potentials out of respect. And for Cordy, gallons' worth, at the very least. Because he had, in fact, truly loved her.   
  
But for Buffy, he cried a river. Maybe two. Perhaps an ocean as well. And this time, he cried even harder. It was the finality - knowing that this time, she wasn't coming back. Whatever he had had with Cordy, whatever he had felt for her, he could never deny that only Buffy had the power to make him hurt this deeply. He wasn't even sure if the pain would ever go away. It was festering within him, slowly eating away at him, but he honestly just didn't know how to let it out.  
  
They heard reports of the aftermath on TV. The police hadn't even bothered with excuses; they had filled the whole damn cavity with cement and were already well on their way to making a new and improved Sunnydale, California. One that would never again be plagued with demon or vampire. A normal town. A nice place to live. The fleeting thought chased through Angel's mind that he wished Buffy had moved to that type of Sunnydale. Then he chided himself. If it wasn't for that, he never would have met her. And even if he had, he might not have been so drawn to her. Because that was what he had loved about her - that she *wasn't* normal. She was extraordinary.  
  
Angel closed his eyes, feeling another onslaught of tears coming.  
  
~*~  
  
Downstairs, Willow, Gwen, Xander, Wesley, & Fred bustled about. The necessity of their actions was actually rather nice; it provided them with a purpose. It took their minds off of the pain and the rotting corpses back in Sunnydale. Willow was separating the economy-sized load of laundry she and Fred had washed earlier that morning for all of them. Beside her, Xander neatly folded each item and placed it in one of the six suitcases they had lined up. Wesley was distributing weapons from their huge combined arsenal, as well as making an inventory of each piece. Fred was in the kitchen, making food and placing it into neatly-labelled brown paper bags, keeping in mind vampires and vegetarians alike, as well as those that were just plain picky. Gwen was out in the garage - she had already gassed up all 4 cars, and was now giving them each a routine check-up. The group worked silently but, most importantly, together.  
  
All, that is, except for Spike, who was huddled in a ball in a far corner of the room. He owned very little clothing besides what he wore now, and he hadn't bothered to bring it from Sunnydale like the others had. He couldn't eat. And he sure as hell wasn't taking one of Angel's cars and setting off on a cross-country mission to find Slayers. He didn't want to be here at all. In fact, he didn't even remember how he had gotten here - Angel had probably shoved him in the car without him even knowing. Hell, he could have set off a bomb under his feet and he wouldn't have noticed.  
  
With his white head bent, hands folded in front of him, skin and hair the color of ivory, Spike resembled nothing short of an angel statue that one might find in a cemetery. Especially since he didn't move a muscle. He just sat there, in the same stunned silence that had overtaken him when he saw his Slayer, his Buffy, his love, disintegrate into nothingness right before his very eyes. When Dru had left him, he had barely pulled himself together. That had been lifetimes ago. This time, he didn't know if he ever would.  
  
~*~  
  
The plan had been for them to set out in groups of two, with one person solo, and take different regions of the US. They would patrol, find the Slayers. All of them. When they were all located, they would all meet up again, and...well, the plan didn't really extend past that. Not that the plan was going to go accordingly, though, because Spike was nowhere to be found. The lunches were packed, the suitcases were loaded, and the cars were running. Well, three of the cars were running. The other was missing. It didn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.   
  
Spike had run.  
  
It wasn't like they hadn't noticed his behavior before now; they had just decided to leave him be. People dealt with grief in all sorts of ways. And while the others had been just as affected, none of them had as deep a capacity to emote as Spike. He took things harder, let them take him down even when he had the strength to overcome them - he just didn't have the inclination. Nobody had thought his pain ran as deep as it did, though - and perhaps that was because none of them had ever given him enough of a chance. None of them had gotten to know him for the man behind the monster. So, in a way, it was their fault. Angel in particular blamed himself for not seeing the self-destructiveness that he knew came so easily to his childe. But either way, Spike was gone; they had lost what could have been a crucial part of their team.  
  
But if there was one thing these six had learned in the past few days, it was to cut their losses and move on; be as strong as they could be. So that was what they set out to do. Six instead of seven, but a formidable six they were.   
  
No goodbyes were said. They had had far too many of those lately. They simply hopped into their respective cars and set off for their respective destinations, loaded with their respective suitcases and lunchbags. They would see one another again, soon enough. 


	2. Sunkissed

To All Good Things (2/22: Sunkissed)  
Angelus angelus1317@hotmail.com  
See first chapter for disclaimer, etc.  
  
~*~  
  
Sedona, Arizona  
6/12/03  
10:13 pm  
  
~*~  
  
"What are we doin' here, Will?" Xander complained. "It's hotter than hell."  
  
Beside him, Willow sighed. Four, maybe five minutes of waiting and he was already whining. Not that that should have surprised her - he'd been doing nothing but bitching and moaning all day. All week, in fact. And as much as she loved him, she was beginning to wish that she had left him back at the Hyperion. She could always just leave him here, though - grab the car keys and take off. Who would argue when she tearfully told the group he'd been eaten by vampires?  
  
A low, scratchy voice that was not Xander's jolted Willow out of Fantasyland. It was the front-desk receptionist of the Desert Quail Inn, telling the pair that their rooms were ready. "Finally," Xander groused. Willow jabbed an elbow at his ribs. His breath came out in a quick huff as his best friend followed the decrepit old man down the hallway to two modest second-floor rooms with a connecting door.  
  
"Enjoy your stay," he wheezed, handing them each a key. With a hacking cough, he turned and his way back to his desk. Speaking not a word, Xander slid the key into the lock on one of the doors, opened it, dumped his bag on the floor, and promptly collapsed on the bed, leaving Willow still in the hall, staring after him. Smiling, she shut the door, entered her own room, and did the same.  
  
~*~  
  
6/13/03  
6:22 pm  
  
~*~  
  
Xander was awakened by a bright light shining on his face. Prying one eye open, he saw the hotel window, blinds drawn. The sun outside was setting below the asphalt of the parking lot, and the last few remaining rays were aimed directly at his eyes. But the light wasn't the only thing that was causing him to wake up - there was also somebody jumping up and down on the bed like a twelve-year-old. Someone who could only be Willow Rosenberg. Heaving a huge yawn, Xander forced his other eye open and pushed himself up into a sitting position.  
  
"Allright, stop it already, I'm up," he mumbled sleepily. "It's too early for this." Running a hand over his pillow-hair, half-closed eyes, and stubble-ridden chin, he tilted his head up to observe her. The light shone through her brilliant red hair, casting a soft glow around her face that made her look...angelic. Radiant. Willow dropped to sit next to him with one final bounce that rattled his teeth together and jolted him out of his trance.  
  
"It's not too early," she informed him perkily. "It's almost six-thirty at night. Now get up and get dressed - I'm bored." She waited a beat, but all Xander could do was stare. He knew they hadn't been on the road *that* long, but he had gotten very little sleep. And now that he had gotten about twenty hours' worth, all he wanted to do was sleep even more. Sleeping felt good - it meant he didn't have to think. Because thinking only led to Buffy. And Dawn, and Giles, and Cordelia, and....Anya.  
  
But Willow was having none of that. When he collapsed back onto his pillow, she leapt from the bed. Xander groaned as she tore around the room, turning on all the lights before finally returning to the foot of the bed to tear the covers off of him. Like a grumpy six-year-old, Xander merely pulled the pillow over his head and mentally willed her to just leave him the hell alone. Everyone dealt with grief differently. Maybe Willow just wanted to forget, but Xander wanted to remember. To wallow. He had been at this for seven years now. He had gained so much, but when he compared it to what he had lost...it didn't seem worth it. Maybe this was it, then - the end of the road. Maybe it was finally time to stop, put the past behind him, and move on. Forget about the vampires and the demons, and just be a regular, ignorant man wading so deep in denial that it didn't bother him anymore. Marry a regular, ignorant woman and have regular, ignorant children and lead a regular, ignorant life.  
  
Maybe it was time to start over.  
  
Time to say goodbye.  
  
~*~  
  
Willow sighed as Xander tossed and turned, trying his damndest to ignore her presence. He didn't want her here? Too damn bad. He might not need her, but she needed him. To lean on, to depend on, to help her through this.  
  
Trying a different tactic, she made her way over to the bed to sit beside her best friend of twenty-two years. She laid a hand on his T-shirt clad back. He didn't respond. Finally, Willow ended up lying down next to him, curling her body around his own.   
  
"Xander...." she prodded.  
  
"No."  
  
"Xand."  
  
"No. Go away."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because you want to talk."  
  
"So?"   
  
"I don't want to talk."  
  
"Fine. So we won't talk."  
  
"....Wills?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Talk to me." As he said this, Xander rolled over in the bed to face the redhead beside him. Her eyes were closed, her brow furrowed the tiniest bit, but it was the face he'd been looking into all his life. The face that would never judge him, would never betray him, would never let him down. Tenderly, he brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead and snuggling closer to her. Willow rolled onto her back and Xander nuzzled his nose into the valley between her breasts, thinking nothing of it, clinging to her like an infant to its mother. She was, in some ways, the mother he never had. She was always there for him, looking out for him, taking care of him. But at the same time, here she was, this incredible woman who had gone from the quiet, mousy Willow of high-school to this brilliant, powerful, glowing, gorgeous woman who, only in the deepest, darkest recess of his mind, would he admit to himself that he occasionally looked upon in a way that was a far cry from motherly.   
  
Xander drew in a deep breath, inhaling Willow's scent. Strawberries and spices and something dusky and mysterious - a little like something he would have picked up at the Magic Box, but more....womanly. This was bliss. This was comfort. This was the scent that told him everything would be allright.  
  
Willow. How would he survive life without her? A realization dawned on him, brief and fleeting but exceedingly clear. No matter what happened, this was where he could always find solace. Here, in these tiny, tawny arms. All thoughts of giving up the life he'd known for the past seven years; of giving up *her*; fled his mind, chased out by this mini-epiphany of his, as she began to speak.  
  
"I miss them," she began. "I miss Kennedy, of course. I feel so horrible saying it, but I don't think I loved her. Not really. Not big, scary, can't-live-without-you love. And I think she knew that. But she was okay with it. She just wanted me to be happy. I needed someone to make me feel wanted after Tara, and I think she knew that was all it was, but she stuck by me anyway. I miss Anya because she made *you* happy. I miss Andrew, because he was an idiot, but he was brave. He didn't complain once that day. He just picked up a weapon and followed. I miss all those girls who did the same thing - Rona, Amanda, Vi....I wish I could see them now, see the fruits of my labor from that spell, tell them all how happy I am for them, help them adjust. I miss Wood, because I'd feel bad if I didn't miss him. He was the most selfless person I've ever seen - he put his vendettas aside for the sake of the team like I don't think I'd ever be able to. I miss Faith, because I believed her when she said she was trying to do things right finally. I think, in those last weeks, I almost thought of her as a friend again. I miss Cordelia because she's come so far from that spoiled little brat she used to be. I miss Gunn and Lorne because they were so instrumental in that change, and in making Angel into who he is today. I miss Giles because he has been more of a father to me than my own. He has never stopped believing in me, stopped caring, or stopped trying to help me. I miss Dawnie because I wanted so bad to see her grow up, graduate from college, get married, have kids of her own. And I miss Buffy because she deserved to see those things so much more than I did. And because she was my best friend, and so much more. She was a friend to us, she was a mother to Dawn, she was the Slayer, and she went down fighting - just like she always wanted to."   
  
Willow stopped talking. She didn't cry - she was all cried out. Instead, she began to lightly stroke the back of Xander's neck, her fingers playing with the fine hairs there. He, too, was silent.  
  
"Do you wanna talk now?" she finally prodded. He shook his head, his nose brushing back and forth over her soft skin.   
  
"No," he murmured. "I just wanna stay here." Willow chuckled, the vibrations emanating from her throat to her chest to Xander's ears, sending warm tingles down his spine as heat blossomed unbidden in the pit of her stomach at the intimate sensation on his mouth and nose and eyelashes all fluttering against her breasts.   
  
"You can't stay down there forever," she chided. Xander smiled against the delicate porcelain of her skin.  
  
"I can try," he declared earnestly.  
  
~*~  
  
6/13/03  
8:39 pm  
  
~*~  
  
It was still warm here in Willow's arms, Xander mused. Even though the sun had long since fallen and the air drifting through the screen of the open window now brought with it a chilled nighttime breeze. The breeze stirred the hairs on his arm, standing taut from the cold-induced goosebumps. Shivering, he buried himself even deeper into his best friend's embrace. But as he did so, she stirred, took in a deep, heaving breath, then finally pulled back to look at the clock.  
  
"Xander?" she murmured, jostling him lightly. With a sigh full of regret, Xander pushed himself up so that he was sitting next to her.  
  
"I'm up, I'm up," he muttered. He balled his left hand into a fist and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and tried to comb his fingers through his hair to control the black mop that sat atop his head and probably hadn't been washed for days. He needed a shower, he noted absently. Idly, he looked down at his hands, and saw that under his nails was caked days' worth of dirt. He suddenly looked up guiltily at Willow, having this strange feeling that he shouldn't be touching her when he was this dirty. When his eyes met hers, he found that she was observing him, head cocked to the side slightly as she watched him. What she found so fascinating he didn't know, but there was just something about the look in her eyes....Something he thought he had seen before. Something that made him lean forward slightly, not sure what he was doing, but only knowing that he had to touch her.  
  
But the spell was abruptly broken when she leapt from the bed, out of his grasp. "It's late," she murmured. He nodded, his tongue unable to form a coherent response. "Get cleaned up," she said. "Then we'll go get some food." She lingered for a second, watching him again. Then, without another word, she made her way back to her own room, leaving him staring after her.  
  
~*~  
  
9:26 pm  
  
~*~  
  
When Xander stepped out of the shower, he felt better than he had in months. Towelling off his hair, he ambled out into the room. A cool breeze drifted in from the open window, evaporating the stray droplets on his skin and sending small chills down his spine. A smile curled around the corners of his mouth at the feeling. It was as if, with the grime and dust, he had washed away the last few days altogether. He would never forget - the people he had lost would stay forever in his heart. But maybe the time for grieving was over. And just maybe, he realized as he pulled a set of clean clothes from his suitcase, he was ready to keep up the demon-hunting lifestyle after all.  
  
Xander was unwrapping the towel from his waist when Willow barged in without warning. Her eyes went comically wide when they landed on him.  
  
"Oh!" she exclaimed. But she was still staring. As if suddenly realizing this fact, the petite redhead spun around. "I'm so sorry, I just wanted to see if you were done, I wasn't thinking...." she babbled. Xander chuckled.  
  
"It's okay, Will," he assured her. "In all our lives, how many times have we seen each other naked?"  
  
"Too many to count," Willow admitted, but didn't speak the thought that rested in both of their minds: that, somehow, this time was different. Maybe it was the place, maybe it was the situation, maybe it was the timing....there had to be *something* to blame for them acting this way.  
  
Abruptly, Willow cleared her throat. "Well," she stated. "I'm just gonna go. Call me when you're ready." She lingered, hesitating like she had something else to say, but ultimately walked through the connecting door to her own room and shut it behind her without another word.  
  
~*~  
  
9:37 pm  
  
~*~  
  
Willow closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the cool wood of the door connecting her room to Xander's. It was like he had said - how many times had they seen each other naked, whether without shame when they were younger or by accident as they got older. Any other time, they would have laughed it off. They would have gone right back about their everyday business without a second thought. That was what was bothering her so much - that she just couldn't seem to forget; couldn't shake the image in her head of Xander standing in the middle of that crappy motel room next door, towel in his hand, his nude body laid out before her, a decidedly startled look in his eyes. She should have looked away immediately, used that detachment that was supposed to come so easily to opposite-gender best friends.   
  
But she didn't. God help her but she had looked. She had stared, gawked, like she'd never seen a penis before, let alone Xander's. She had acted like a teenager with her first crush. Which, ironically in her case, had been Xander himself.  
  
It must be something in the air, Willow finally decided. She hadn't gotten this way around Xander since.... Homecoming. Sophomore year. Oh, god, she'd almost forgotten about that incident.   
  
Slowly, methodically, Willow began to bang her head against the door. Then, realizing that Xander would probably hear that, she stopped and walked calmly to the bed, stopping along the way to grab a small velvet drawstring bag from her suitcase in the corner. She dumped out the contents of the bag onto the mauve comforter, and out came tumbling various magick-related parphernalia. While Willow was nowhere near the witch she used to be, and was often scared to attempt spells that had once come second-nature to her, she was slowly but surely regaining her confidence with simple, harmless spells like this one.   
  
Dropping to sit, cross-legged, on the carpet floor, Willow first drew a circle around herself with salt. Then, at the four points of the circle - north, east, south, and west - she lit tall, vanilla taper candles. In front of her sat a short, squat black candle, unlit. First she chanted a few short phrases in the memorized Latin that always seemed to feel so comforting rolling off her tongue. This was a time warping spell, which caused time around her to slow to maybe half of its normal speed. This was to give herself time to complete the second half of her spell before Xander came knocking at the door.   
  
When the chant was finished, Willow lit the small black candle from the flame of the off-white candle directly in front of her. then crushed a handful of dried herbs and sprinkled them over the flame where they acted as incense, the heady scent feeling the room and Willow's lungs, calming her. Taking a deep breath, she let her eyes drift closed.   
  
Willow meditated. And around her formed a blockade of pale pink smoke, protecting her, as if it somehow understood that she had finally learned to control the forces of magick the way they were meant to be controlled.  
  
~*~  
  
10:02 pm  
  
~*~  
  
Xander knocked nervously on the outside door to Willow's hotel room. Suddenly, he was becoming increasingly anxious. Which, given that this was Willow, was not a feeling he was used to having around her. But now here he was, standing outside knocking on the door, smelling like shampoo and aftershave, hair freshly combed, chin freshly shaved, feeling ridiculously like he was taking her out on a date.   
  
When the door opened, there was Willow. She smiled at him, and Xander managed to stop just short of gasping out loud. Because even in casual jean shorts and a tank top, she looked better to him than she ever had in the twenty-odd years they'd known each other.  
  
Something even more powerful than hormones overtook Xander, and he surged forward, capturing her lips with his own. She put up no resistance as he pushed her backwards into the room, kicking the door shut behind them.  
  
~*~  
  
Willow was feeling good when she heard the knock at the door. Her little impromptu meditation session had done her well; she was much calmer than she had been before. As she approached the door, she took deep, cleansing breaths. When she opened it, she was going to look at her best friend as just that: her best friend. Nothing more. She was going to calmly greet him, then they would go out for food, and come back feeling convinced that whatever had passed between them just a little while ago was a fluke.  
  
But the second she saw him, everything went out the window. There was a second of stunned silence as they could do nothing but look at each other. What had happened to her pal Xander? Willow wondered. What had happened to the scrawny little boy-next-door, the one who used to chase her around his house or hers with a plastic lightsaber and a Darth Vader mask? When had he grown up, toned up?  
  
She wasn't quite sure how she was expecting to answer that question. But all of the sudden, it didn't even matter, because he was kissing her, and it just felt so right.  
  
They never made it to dinner.  
  
~*~  
  
6/14/03  
8:39 am  
  
~*~  
  
Xander Harris woke up to an empty space.  
  
Shocked, he sat up, looked around, panicked. After everything they had been through, would she really leave him out to dry like this? Searching around on the floor, he found his jeans and pulled them on. Willow's clothes were gone, too, he noted. But that didn't make any sense - this was *her* room, after all.  
  
Finally, he noticed the door was open, just a crack, sunlight streaming through.  
  
Outside he found Willow. Sitting on the porch railing in the middle of a beautiful Arizona morning, just gazing out into the desert before her. Xander felt his heart slow to a more normal speed as he moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her tiny form.  
  
"Hi," he murmured in her ear, wanting nothing more than to hold her and never let her go. Smiling, she folded her arms on top of his as he trailed kisses down her neck.  
  
"Hi," she returned. Moving to sit next to her on the railing in the opposite direction, Xander took her hand. He looked, deep inside himself, for words, but none would come. It was something in her smile, however, that told him words weren't needed right now. So instead, he kissed the back of her hand. Then, leaning forward, he kissed her lips. And again, and again, and harder. Willow pulled back, chuckling. "C'mere," she said, hopping off of the porch railing and making her way out into the blazing Sedona sun.   
  
Xander followed.  
  
In the middle of the desert, Willow began to dance. She swayed back and forth and spun in circles and finally caught Xander's hands in hers, pulling him with her. He let himself be led along, taking it all in with a bemused smile. He would do anything for this woman. And Willow, realizing this, reached forward to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. 


End file.
